The Only Way I Know
by awesome.puffin
Summary: Kenny McCormick has a twin sister, Kandy McCormick. Satan takes a vacation, and Kandy takes over Hell for a week. Then she meets Christophe and Gregory. M for language.


My name is Kandace McCormick. Kandy for short. I don't know when I was born, or where. I don't know who my family is. I don't know if I have any brothers or sisters. All I know for sure is that from being found wandering the streets when I was two to being kicked out at sixteen, I lived with a nun named Sister Anastasia, in Cincinnati, Ohio. She was kind, and there were other kids to play with. I always felt like there was something missing, though. Oh, and if you're wondering how I know my name, I had a stuffed pink bunny with me when I was found. It had the name "Kandace McCormick" written on the tag, so Sister Ana assumed that was my name. And so, that's the name I've been responding to for the past fifteen years. Yes, I am seventeen.

I am currently on my way to Colorado. Why? Because I was told to, and I've become a little tired of Cincy. It's gotten boring. Sure, it's really dangerous, but dying every other day kinda sucks. And yes, I do really die pretty much every other day. And yet, I somehow always end up in bed, in my clothes, without a scratch on me. I really don't understand it. I've been to Hell, and I've been to heaven, so I can't really say I don't believe in either of those. I've met Satan, and I've seen God, so I can't really say I don't believe in them, either. Satan told me the day before yesterday that there was someone he wanted me to meet and to come back yesterday, but I didn't die yesterday, so… Yeah.

So! Right! On my way to Colorado! Yes! Satan told me I should make my way to a place called South Park if I had time, and that Damien (Satan's son, and the Antichrist) would meet me there and help me out with something, so that's where I'm headed. Though I wish I knew what he wanted to "help me out" with. Not that I don't like surprises, but… sometimes it's just safer knowing what you're getting into. Ah, Satan also told me I should go back to school. I quit after tenth grade, when I "left" Sister Ana's. (Yes, there is a story behind that, but I really don't want to get into that right now.) School sucks. I really don't want to go. But I will, since Satan asked me very nicely.

"South Park is comin' up, here, missy. You'd best get ready," the trucker beside me says.

I blink blearily and look around, sighing and stretching. "Thanks, Bill," I mumble.

"Well, it was no trouble. You're good company, missy," he tells me, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles. "Now, you be careful here in South Park. Some _weird_ things happen."

"Weird?" I question.

"_Weird_," is the only answer I get.

"Okay… I'll be careful…" As careful as I ever am, at least. Though careful doesn't really mean shit when you come back to life the day after you die.

Over and over again.

The truck slowed and pulled into a gas station. "This is South Park," Bill says, nodding at me. "Hope ya find what you're lookin' for."

"Thanks for everything, Bill," I say, grinning. "And it was nice meeting you!"

I open the door and jump to the ground. Aaaaand, there's Damien, looking surly as ever, leaning against the wall of the gas station. "'Sup, Damien?" I call, wiggling my fingers at him coyly as Bill's truck drives off. He shakes his head at me and flips me off. "Aw, is that any way to treat a friend who _always_ comes to see you when you're in Hell?"

"You took too long," he grumbles when I reach him.

"Yeah, well, not everyone can travel as fast as you, what with your demon minions," I sneer, wiggling my fingers at the creepy little fiends.

"You could, if you let my father help you once in a while," he huffs, glaring at me.

"Weren't you going to help me out when I got here?" I say blandly. "What are you helping me with, anyway? And why did the guy who drove me here say something about _weird_ things going on in South Park?"

"Be patient," he says, not moving.

"Are you kidding? I can't be _patient_! Patience is for people who don't have places to explore!" He slants me a look. You know the look. That disbelieving "Really." look. I frown at him and lift my chin, almost offended. "It's true! I got places to _be_, Damien! People to laugh at!" I look away, pouting. "I mean, it's not like I want to spend all my time in one place. And this is a small town. Nothing interesting here."

"That's not technically true," he corrects me, staring at the gas station doors.

"Dude, what are you waiting for? And what do you mean, it's not true?"

And then a kid comes out of the gas station. Our age, with blond hair. Kinda cute, I guess. "Ah, Damien, you're still here!" he chirps.

In a British accent.

Damien turns to me. "This is Pip. Pip, this is Kandy."

"'Sup?" I say, looking him over. Brown British shorts, red British jacket, and a brown British cap. Why do I say it's all British? Because it all _looks_ British. Especially on him, with his longish pale blond hair and big brown eyes and adorable-ness.

"Hello!" Pip says cheerfully, smiling brightly.

"Oh, I like you, you're cute!" I say, grinning. Damien glares at me. I blink at him innocently. "What? I can't call him cute? Well, damn." Damien moves to Pip's side and slings an arm over his shoulder possessively. "Ohhhhhhhh," I say, dragging it out. "I see now. Sorry! _So_, Pip, where ya from?"

"England?" he says, making it a question.

"No, yeah, I got that, I mean, where _in_ England?"

"Oh, I'm from London."

"Dude! Sweet! I've always wanted to go to London. Is it as cool as people say?"

"Uh, well—"

"Let's go," Damien says, interrupting him.

"'Ey, Damien, we're conversin' here!" I complain jokingly.

"Converse some other time. Right now, we must find your brother."

"Whoa! Okay, thanks for droppin' _that_ bombshell on me! When the Hell were you gonna tell me I had a _brother_?!" I exclaim, trotting after him and Pip as they started walking farther into the small mountain town.

"We were going to tell you yesterday, but you didn't die yesterday," he says, giving me this disappointed look, like it was _my_ fault I didn't die.

"Yeah, well, your dad told me to fuckin' come here, so I came here, and now I'm here, so what were you going to help me with, and _explain the brother, please_!"

"His name is Kenneth McCormick—"

"Or Kenny, for short," Pip interjects.

"—and he's your twin. You two act too much like each other," Damien continues, giving me a long-suffering look.

"What, and that's _my_ fault? Blame God! He made us! Also, I can't help how I act. Seriously," I complain. "And what were you going to help me with?"

"I'm going to help you settle in," he says simply.

"Wait, settle in? You make it sound like I'm _staying_ here," I laugh. Damien doesn't respond. "Dude? There is _no way_ I am staying here!" I shout, bristling. "I didn't wanna come here in the first place, but you and—ooh, who's _that?"_ I ask, distracted by a gorgeous, rough-looking guy with brown hair, dirt everywhere, and a cigarette sticking out the side of his mouth. He's tall and kind of rangy, and he's carrying a shovel. And he looks vaguely pissed off. "Hey, I wanna meet him!"

"No, we have things to do," Damien shoots me down. "We are not stopping just because you want to flirt with someone."

"Why not? I think that's the _best_ reason for stopping!"

"His name is Christophe DeLorne, but everyone calls him The Mole. He's a French mercenary," Pip says.

"Oooooh! French! _And_ a mercenary! Oh-ho-ho, sounds dangerous!" I chortle.

"No," Damien says again.

"Oh, come on, don't be such a spoilsport!" I coax.

"No."

I huff. "_Damien—"_

"No."

"Dude, I could just—"

"No."

"'Ey! You didn't let me—"

"No."

"Goddamn it, will you let me—"

"No."

I don't speak for a moment, glaring at his back. He looks back at me, smirking. "This is all very _amusing_ for you, isn't it?" I snarl. His smirk gets bigger. "Asshole," I mutter. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"To find Kenny."

"Your dad told me Jesus lives in South Park. Does he really?"

"Yes."

"Oh." I look around, taking in the trees, snow, houses, more trees, and more snow. "Dude, this place looks lame," I sigh.

"It's actually very interesting, once you get used to how strange it is!" Pip chirps.

"Yeah, Bill mentioned that. How exactly is it weird?"

They both hesitate. Pip looks at Damien in question; Damien shrugs. "You'll see," he tells me.

"You know, I hate when people say that, 'cause in my experience, 'you'll see' always means something bad," I murmur. I spot another guy, this one tall, wearing blue clothes and a blue cholo hat, and smoking a cigarette. "That guy's hot," I say absently.

Damien sighs.

I purse my lips. "Hey, Damien? I don't wanna go," I say, and start running in the opposite direction.

I hear him chasing after me, and I know he's going to catch me, but I don't want to make it _too_ easy for him. After all, I _do_ have a reputation in Hell to uphold. And that thought makes me stop abruptly, making Damien run into me and knock me over. "Hey!" I shout. "There was no need for that! I stopped!" He glares at me, picks me up, and flings me over his shoulder. "Yeah, all right, then, fucking caveman!" I snarl. "Does Kenny die like I do?"

"Yes."

"Then how come I never saw him in Hell? And why didn't I ever hear about him? If he dies as often as I do, you'd think I'd have met him or seen him or at the very least _heard_ of him." Pip's waiting where we left him, just standing there, munching on what looks suspiciously like a cookie. Which reminds me… "Damien, you still owe me cookies from our last cockfight."

Damien growls. "I thought we agreed that was a draw?"

"Nope, my bird won. Sorry, dude. Now get me those cookies, I'm hungry," I demand, kicking my feet.

"_After_ we find Kenny."

I whine. "But _Daaaamieeeeen!"_

"Shut up."

"But—"

"Shut up."

"—I—"

"Shut it."

"—want—"

"Stop it."

"—_cookies!"_ I wail.

"_Stop that!_" Damien snaps, snarling at me.

I sniff. "Will you buy me cookies? Like, now?"

"As long as you shut up, I'll get you anything you want."

"Just cookies, please."

He sighs. This is what happens when Damien hangs out with me too long. I should have a warning label. I know exactly what it would say, too:

WARNING! May contain dangerous amounts of bad luck, headaches, and sexy.

… Man, I love life.


End file.
